


for if the dark returns

by zhuzhting



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 乐华七子NEXT | NEX7, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Elves, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhting/pseuds/zhuzhting
Summary: Zhengting’s father had always warned him of the humans.They are evil and selfish and greedy,he had said,they will take everything you have to give and leave you with nothing.But when Zhengting finds himself enthralled by a king of a fallen kingdom, he can't seem to help but risk it all for him.
Relationships: Cai Xukun/Zhu Zhengting | Jung Jung
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	for if the dark returns

Zhengting’s father had always warned him of the humans.

_ They are evil and selfish and greedy,  _ he had said,  _ they will take everything you have to give and leave you with nothing. _

But Zhengting was also the first to admit that he was never one to listen all that well.

Zhengting sneaking out of the Wood to go to the land of men was not much of a surprise to anyone. He had come here before, liked to come here often, to drink and watch as men and dwarves and gnomes laughed and jeered and drank themselves to a stupor. He does not belong here, and everyone in the vicinity knew that. They keep a wide berth around him but he does not mind.

That is, until someone comes close.

“Can I buy you a drink?” The man is the first to dare to approach him. He sits on the wooden stool next to Zhengting with a cocksure grace that Zhengting is not sure what to think of. His hair was unkempt and his face a little dirty, the clothes he wore looked worn and frayed, but he holds himself with an air of indifference and surety that Zhengting rarely ever sees.

Zhengting stares longer than he needs to. The man meets his gaze without falter, smile still on his face. Zhengting is intrigued. He nods.

He takes sips from the cup the man hands to him and continues to watch him, waiting for him to speak. The wine tastes cheap and slightly acidic but Zhengting does not mind.

When he does, Zhengting is surprised. “My name is Cai Xukun.”

There are many who know of Cai Xukun and the fallen kingdom of Jondur. It was, after all, not that long ago when they were taken over by the Orcs. His father who hated Orcs more than most had turned away indifferently when he had heard the news of the siege.

“The elves are not to lend the men our help,” he had said, tone disgusted, and Zhengting remembers feeling sorry for whatever man had crossed his father once before. “Helping them will only serve to ruin us.”

Zhengting lifts his cup against his lips to cover up the surprise that he knows Xukun probably sees. “Zhu Zhengting,” he offers instead, honest. His father would not like it, his name is not unknown and there is a weight to it, one that even other beings are aware of. He thinks it is the least he can do seeing as Xukun had given him his own name.

“I know.”

“Oh?”

Xukun gives him a sidelong glance, before turning back to look at the bustle of people in the room. Zhengting is not sure what to make of the glint in his eye. “I am not unfamiliar with the elven people.” He breathes out something that sounds a little bit mocking in Zhengting’s ears, but he chooses to ignore it. “Made of wood and pomp and nothing remotely human.”

Zhengting’s mind reels at his words. He wants to bite back, would have once, when he was younger and defensive and angry, but he chooses instead to look away. “Humanity is not quite perfect now, is it?”

Zhengting is surprised once again by the laugh that escapes Xukun’s lips, and when their eyes meet again Xukun does not look quite so mocking anymore. “I think,” Xukun muses, and it feels like he is appraising Zhengting, somehow, “I would much rather be human than perfect.”

He pushes off his chair then, and walks away without so much as a goodbye and Zhengting is left perplexed and unsure what to make of the man.

He does not have to think too long on it because Xukun is there again the next night.

He hands Zhengting a cup without much else of a greeting. Xukun looks different today. He is clean-shaven and wearing clothes that look in better condition than those of yesterday’s. Zhengting wonders what he does, now, that his kingdom was no more. Was there a place in the world for fallen princes turned kings?

“There are orcs that lurk the night.” Zhengting says, more into his cup than to Xukun. He does not know why he says it, he has an inkling that Xukun can take care of himself and did not need him to warn him of anything. Yet, the nagging feeling at the back of his head tells him to say it anyways. An olive branch, perhaps.

Xukun hums, unworried. “I know.”

Zhengting wonders what it is that makes Xukun sit next to him. Why he turns his body ever so slightly towards Zhengting like he is about to say something but chooses not to. He decides that he does not want to ask, is not sure he actually wants to know.

They sit in silence for who knows how long. The people around them shift and move, and yet no one speaks.

“They have the same ears as you do,” Xukun finally says with a quiet sort of contemplation.

Zhengting unconsciously reaches a hand up to feel his pointed ear, not really knowing what Xukun was saying, but he did feel suddenly self-conscious, like he was being scrutinized.

“Orcs were once elves,” Xukun says, and he looks at Zhengting, “did you know that?”

Zhengting shakes his head. There were rumors. Of course there were rumors, trees whispered almost as much as stone castle walls. The Wood was rife with rumors. Zhengting just chose not to listen to them, would rather fill the days patrolling in silence than in gossip.

“I saw it,” and there is something very haunted in Xukun’s eyes that sends a shiver up Zhengting’s spine. “The corruption is slow and they claw at their skin and scream endlessly until they finally become one. Damaged,” he puts his cup down with a sneer. The ale inside sloshes out. “Imperfect.”

Zhengting’s hands twitch and he is not sure why. He feels a phantom itch crawl up his arm, but he does not dare scratch it.

“Are they,” he says slowly, swallowing past the sudden dryness of his mouth, “-are they the same? Do they remember?”

Xukun’s eyes pull Zhengting in and he is almost certain some type of witchcraft leaves him trapped in his gaze.

“I do not know,” he says and he looks so open and honest that Zhengting believes him. His dad would call him a fool. “I do not think so, but I cannot be sure. There is a malice in their eyes, a corruption. They are cold and lifeless,” Xukun snorts, looks at Zhengting with the same mocking stare he had given him the night before, “even for elves.”

Zhengting cannot bring himself to counter that. Something sickening at the pit of his stomach brews, and he vaguely recognizes it as dread. He gets up, hands brushing at the dagger at his side, an assurance. “Take care of yourself,” he tells Xukun passingly, before he leaves.

He thinks a lot that night, and a discomfort creeps below his skin. His fingers ache with a need, but he refuses to dig his nails in and scratch.

\---

“Zhengting,” Chengcheng is young, no longer an elfling but barely grown, a few hundred years shy of adulthood. So Zhengting does not berate him for the volume of his voice, and instead strides over to where he is.

“What is it?”

“You have been distant lately,” Chengcheng sounds a little unsure, “we worry about you. Where have you been going?”

Zhengting is not quite sure what to say. He cannot simply say that he had been out spending his nights with a human. His father would most likely hear of it and he is sure to be punished. He trusts Chengcheng-would trust him with his life-but the woods had eyes and ears and he would not test them.

“I have been feeling stuffy lately,” Zhengting waves away, hoping he sounds convincing, “going outside helps.”

“Right.”

There is a suspicion in Chengcheng’s eye and Zhengting chooses to ignore it. He will have to be subtler in his movements. A guilt claws at him for lying to Chengcheng, dishonesty was not a common practice among elves and Chengcheng had attached himself to Zhengting as an elfling, rarely leaving his side.

Zhengting smiles guilelessly, taking ahold of Chengcheng’s hand. “Come,” he says, pulling the younger elf away from the entrance of the Wood. “I will braid your hair for you.”

This gains him a smile in return and for a moment he forgets his guilt when he sits with Chengcheng’s hair in his hands.

\---

“You were missed yesterday.”

Zhengting is not quite sure of the tone in Xukun’s voice, but he finds that he does not mind. Xukun is made up of anger and bate and too many feelings, and he thinks if he was in the same position he would be too.

“I had matters to attend to.”

He feared that Chengcheng would follow him out, was sure of it, if he had not stayed with him last night. He knows how Xukun would react should he tell him this, so he decides not to share.

“Did you find trouble with the orcs?” Zhengting finds himself hesitant to ask. It was clear that Xukun had a dislike for orcs. He was not sure how much of that hate extended to elves merely due to the association, but Xukun had not tried to kill him yet.

Xukun shrugs. “I dealt with them.”

The silence settles again and they drink and glance at each other from the corners of their eyes. There is something comforting in the silence now, almost turning familiar. Zhengting is endlessly fascinated by the man who speaks with derision and age above his years.

“Jondur,” Zhengting isn’t quite sure how to speak, afraid of offending the man, afraid of him turning away. “What was it like?”

Xukun stares.

He studies and scrutinizes, and Zhengting wishes he could take his question back. Wenjun had always called him callous, for a prince, but this was the first time he spited himself for it.

But Xukun eventually speaks, his voice is grave and rough and Zhengting is reminded of the wizards and seers who tell of tales of the past and the future. “Jondur was the brightest, most beautiful kingdom I had ever seen.”

It is the first time Zhengting has seen him look so melancholic, as the snide and taunting leaves his face. “The castles and homes were colorful and brilliant, no painting could ever come close. There was a celebration,” he says, and Zhengting feels almost like he should not be hearing this, “every new year. We celebrated the land and the wealth it had brought us, and there were lanterns and lights and music that I have never seen or heard anywhere else.”

Zhengting wants to see it, wishes to enter the words Xukun lays out in front of him like strewn memories.

“Now, it is only ash and darkness that covers and suffocates the streets. They lurk the castle halls and run rampant, like decay.” There is something hollow in Xukun’s eyes when he looks back at him and Zhengting averts his gaze. “Jondur is no more.”

“Is there really no hope?”

A snort. “Hope is for fools and martyrs. I have seen many of those die.”

“Perhaps,” Zhengting surmises. He has met cynics before and he is sure Xukun has all the reasons to be one. Still, he cannot help the twinge of sadness that he knows must show on his face. “But darkness cannot rule forever.”

Xukun lets out a laugh then that shocks Zhengting upright. He clasps a hand on Zhengting’s shoulder and Zhengting has a passing thought that this was the first time Xukun had touched him. “You are naïve,” Xukun says, but there is nothing harsh about his tone. “You would get along well with someone I know.”

“Then I look forward to meeting this friend of yours.”

“One day, you will meet him.” Xukun stands, brushing dust off of his lap. “But not today.”

He leaves and Zhengting is left alone again.

They continue on like this for many days. Xukun would tell Zhengting of his life, of tragedy and humanity, and Zhengting would soak everything in with rapt attention. He does not know why Xukun speaks to him and why he explains the world to Zhengting with the same cynicism and bite in his words, but he finds that maybe Xukun likes to be listened to.

There are nights when he does not go, when he has to attend to the duties expected of him. There are nights he spends with Chengcheng or Justin instead, to keep their suspicion from growing. Yet he often finds himself thinking of the lonely would-be king who gives him wine despite drinking ale.

The next time Zhengting tries to go to the pub, Xukun is standing outside. There is a travel-worn bag thrown over his shoulder, and he leans on a wall outside.

Zhengting pauses in front of him, and Xukun straightens. There is something in his eyes, almost sad, and Zhengting feels that he does not like what he might have to say.

“I am afraid this is goodbye, friend.” It’s the first time that Xukun has referred to him as such and Zhengting is taken aback. He did not really know what they were to each other, but at most he thought them drinking companions. He cannot help the swell of warmth he feels at the title.

Zhengting takes his appearance in and looks around at the empty streets. “Is it the orcs?”

“Not quite,” Xukun says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “There was an idealist,” he continues, and Zhengting tilts his head in confusion, “he told me that there was hope and maybe I am foolish enough to chase that hope.”

It dawns on Zhengting then, what Xukun is trying to say, and surprise fills him. “You are going back to Jondur?”

“I am,” Xukun nods as he looks off into the distance, and Zhengting does not know whether the confirmation fills him with excitement or dread. “My group and I leave for Jondur tonight.”

Zhengting’s breath catches, “so soon?”

“We must make haste,” Xukun’s gaze hardens. “The orcs grow bolder as each day passes.”

He lets out a breathy laugh then.

“I realized,” Xukun says, and something manic crosses his face, “they feared that as long as I was alive, I was a threat to their place in Jondur. Their belief in my ability to reclaim my home was stronger than mine.”

Zhengting grips the hilt of his dagger. He does not know why his hand twitches, why he wants to protest. It felt like something selfish and dirty was churning inside of him. So he forces out words he is not quite sure he really means and feels ashamed for it. “Good luck.” 

Xukun smiles, and it is small and sincere. Zhengting thinks it looks like a fragile hope. “Goodbye, friend,” he clasps Zhengting’s shoulder, and his touch lingers there for a while. “Thank you.”

Zhengting watches him go. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my latest project!! this is heavily inspired by the LOTR universe but does not necessarily adhere to it since i made the lore to fit this story. this is gonna be multiple chapters and will be quite a wild ride so i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoy writing it.
> 
> yell with [me](https://twitter.com/zhuzhting)


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